Last night Foyle, who has been passing his retirement by writing A History of the Hastings Constabulary in the Wartime Years, returns to solve the seething crime on the south coast. "There's no one else," as the assistant commissioner puts it, though I think the simple addition of a couple of words - "There's no one else like you" - would have greased the wheels a bit.

Pausing only to put on his trademark trilby, Foyle gets down to work, and in no time at all is confronting the local parson in church. "I am arresting you for the murders of Det Chief Superintendent Meredith and Henry Scott and for the attempted murder of Det Sgt Milner. D'ye have anything to say?" "Whatever are you talking about?" gasps the man of God. "D'ye have anything else to say?" says Foyle, a master of the laconic and how to talk through tightened teeth. Terse hardly covers it. He is as buttoned up as winter combinations. Foyle is such a masterclass in inhibition that you wonder how long it takes Michael Kitchen to defrost after each series.

I hardly like to mention it, but he has absolutely no evidence at all against the parson. Who, however, is indeed a German spy and shows a very proper spirit by shooting himself.

Foyle's War is not afraid of dullness - the subject of this story was map-making - sweetened with decency. A man with religious scruples, a jolly Betjemanish girl with tumbling gold curls and decent chaps in a succession of curiously warped hats.

Damages is not called Damages for nothing. Glenn Close plays Patty Hewes, a lawyer who bleeds the rich dry for their crimes. And there is real blood on the floor, too.

The first death will shake the nation. It's a dog.

Patty (everyone calls her Patty, and I admire their nerve) is engaged in a major case for damages against Frobisher, a crooked tycoon (Ted Danson, showing unsuspected teeth). He has saved his own financial bacon while leaving his workforce destitute. There is only one witness who can testify against him. To stiffen this woman's resolve, Patty has her dog shot. Frobisher gets the blame but the dog was shot by Patty's (if I may put it this way) dogsbody. Then the witness's brother is found dead, too, in his bath, and Ellen, who is his fiancee and a lawyer in Patty's firm, rushes traumatised into the street, covered in blood and soaking wet.

I now have absolutely no idea at all what is going on. To find out will take 13 hours of my life.

To say Patty is devious hardly covers the curliness of her. She could, as Wodehouse put it, hide at will behind a spiral staircase. The irritating thing is, she deceives us all quite effortlessly. I really thought she had sacked her loyal, right-hand man ("Enjoy your tofu, Tom. You're fired!"). I thought she liked dogs. And I thought she had hired Ellen for her brilliant brain. (Well, no. Frankly, I always thought that was a bit far-fetched.) What with Patty's serpentine coils and Frobisher's serrated teeth, Damages looks like a fight to the death between a cobra and a mongoose.

The cutting from scene to scene is so razor-sharp you could easily dislocate your neck. I suggest you would have a very good case in court.

Meanwhile, in Coronation Street (ITV1, Sunday), Liam has fallen down a mountain. (For late arrivals at the storyline, he and Maria are holidaying in the Lake District.) Maria shrieks, "Lee-am! Lee-am!" with the ear-splitting clarity of Bianca calling Rick-ee, but Liam is spreadeagled senseless on the scree. So, as night falls, Maria sets out for help while Liam's labrador, Ozzy, stands by the body, wagging his tail with the air of a dog who enjoys a good joke.

This affecting scene reminds me of the Wordsworth poem Fidelity, in which a shepherd finds a skeleton at the bottom of a precipice guarded by a faithful hound. How, Wordsworth wonders innocently, has the dog survived its bleak vigil without food? Only too damn obvious, I would have thought. Let us hope it does not come to that with Ozzy and Liam.

Maria, a credit to the hairdressing profession, makes it back to the hotel where the manager knows precisely what to do: "Tell the kitchen I want tea now!" And, when they arrive, so do Mountain Rescue: "Any chance of another cup of tea, mate?"

Last night Mountain Rescue were still searching vainly for Liam. If I may offer a tiny tip? Try shouting "Ozzy!" then follow the bark. Don't mention it. Any time.